


The Lost Letter To You

by MartinHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Letters, M/M, Reunions, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartinHolmes/pseuds/MartinHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft comes to visit, John doesn't think any of it. But when Sherlock comes back from the dead it shatters John's life. And what of the reports that John was given, seemingly to be written by Sherlock on his journeys?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Letter To You

John winced as he made his way up the stairs. His leg had been acting up for the past two and a half years which forced him to use his old cane again. He tried to stop his hand from shaking by clutching the railing but it felt like the tremor moved throughout entire his body. John had enough sense in him to know that that wasn't happening. Or did he? It was a tiring process.

When John reached the landing he froze. The door to his flat was open. When he left for his job at the surgery he was sure he closed it. Mrs. Hudson was gone for the weekend so she couldn't have done this.

He reached behind him where he kept his gun. The old habit never truly died even when he...well when he was left all alone. He limped through the doorway as quietly as he could which didn't really matter since he made so much noise climbing the stairs.

John looked around. The only thing that looked out if place was the tray on the small table that was next to his chair. On the tray were two mugs filled with steaming tea. Whoever broke into his flat was hopefully still here. Why would he or she leave TWO mugs of tea if they were going to leave? John picked up one of the mugs and took a whiff. It smelt entirely too sweet for his taste so it must be for whoever was still here with him.

He heard a faint sound behind him that made him whirl around. What he saw made him drop his gun, it landed on the floor with a thud. John couldn't hear it over the blood rushing through his head because the intruder-even if his back was turned-looked so familiar. Almost like he was...like he was...

"Sher-...?"

But the man standing there wasn't his best friend three years prior but Mycroft Holmes. John felt a sudden ache in his chest he hadn't felt in so long. He straightened himself and felt a cold rage course through his veins. He hadn't seen or heard from Mycroft in two years.

"Mycroft, what the hell are you doing here?"

The older man gave a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. He looked more tired than usual. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent since John last saw him. Running the British government could be a tiring job.

"John. Thank you for finally gracing me with your presence. I have made tea for you. Still no sugar and no milk, correct?"

John was confused. He had questions; some involve some shouting and anger. He watched as Mycroft glanced over his shoulder after he finished speaking. John guessed he was looking at the tea and gave a look over his shoulder, the tea seemed to still be steaming; he didn't really think much about it. The pale folder in Mycroft's hand grabbed his attention also.

"I want you to take a look at the contents of this folder. Take a 'blast to the past' if you will. I know you won't let me down." Mycroft offered the folder to John and waited for it to be taken.

White hot rage filled his veins and he slapped the folder to the floor. Pages went everywhere, faces that John did not recognize but one. The mad face of James Moriarty looked up at him, mocking him. He gave a sudden movement and swiped his cane against floor, both scattering the papers more and unbalancing himself.

Mycroft made a move to help him but John pushed him away. "Why..." He took a breath. "Why the hell are you here!? Why the hell would you bring me this?!"

"I was...worried. The contents of this folder reveal everyone who ever made contact with James Moriarty. They are all either dead or contained. I want you to read all the reports. I also want you to meet the person you was mostly responsible for this achievement. He will come to you when he is ready, which I presume to very soon."

John breathed heavily as he took in everything that was said. "Bullshit…You were worried about me?! If you were so worried then why haven't you contacted me in the last two years? You're not capable of feeling worry Mycroft so you're going to have to come up with a better excuse for whatever it is you need!"

Mycroft titled his head slightly and sighed. "Read the reports John then we shall talk. Good day and enjoy your tea."

A hysterical laugh escaped John. Mycroft had closed the door on his way out as

John calmed down. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hanged his head.

Moriarty's web has been taken down, it was wonderful news but the pain in his chest only increased.

John swiveled in his place and looked up. He dropped his cane at the sight that greeted him.

There sitting on one of the chairs was Sherlock Holmes. The same man who used to be his best friend-maybe-even-something-more-it's-complicated. The same man who drank more sugar than tea because of his secret sweet tooth that John only found out about by accident. The same man that followed around London chasing criminals and solving cases, the same Sherlock that he watched jump from the roof of St. Bart's. The same Sherlock that he saw landed on the pavement in a bloody heap. He didn't have a pulse!

"Joh-" The dead man was cut off by John practically running to him and punching him in the jaw.

"You aren't real. You're not real. You can't be real." He felt real though as he grabbed the familiar shirt collar and threw the man to the floor. John punched him again and again and again. He kept at it until he couldn't see the-not real, not real, can’t be real-man's face by the tears gathering in his eyes.

John collapsed against the other man’s chest as he sobbed. Arms wrapped around him holding him tightly. He looked up into the man's eyes-those beautiful, beautiful eyes. They seemed tired from whatever he did for the past three years but still as bright as the day they first met. Sherlock Holmes was alive; really, truly, and very much alive and breathing and here and not dead.

"Stay, please."

"I will, I promise."

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

It was nighttime now. The shock that his best friend was still alive only faded a bit but the anger he felt increased with every second that he knew that he was the only kept in the dark and everyone else knew.

He was gathering the fallen papers from the folder that Mycroft had given him earlier. John examined each picture carefully but he only recognized a few faces. What he really wanted to do was read the reports that Sherlock- the man who was very much alive but very much asleep in his bed- filled out.

As he skimmed the first report he noticed that it was attached to another paper. It seemed it be a letter…addressed to John.  
He gathered all the reports together to check. Every single report had a letter attached to it.

 

_JW-_

_I just took down the first man. It was almost boringly easy. Hopefully the next will serve a better challenge._

_-SH_

  
_JW-_  
 _It has been almost half a year now. I do hope to return home soon. I hope you are well._

_-SH_

  
_JW-_  
 _I miss you. I miss London. I want this to end. I need it to end._

  
_-SH_

  
_JW-_  
 _I apologize for my last letter, I don’t remember much about it. I don’t know when I will be able to return. I might die here._

_I don’t want to die here._  


_-SH_

  
_JW-_  
 _I’m hardly bored._

_It doesn’t feel as good as I envisioned._  
 _-SH_

  
_JW-_  
 _I love you. I am sorry I never said it before. John Hamish Watson, I am utterly besotted with you._

_-SH_

John cried himself to sleep that night.


End file.
